Chapter 1: First Encounter

Mumbai, 7:53 AM.

The usual chaos of the city had already begun to unfold. Honking cars, overloaded buses, street vendors yelling to grab attention, and the warm morning sun starting to soak the city.

Roshni stepped out of the local train station, clutching her dupatta tightly in one hand and her tiffin bag in the other. Her steps were practiced, quick, but her eyes held that spark — a kind of hopeful determination that refused to be dulled by exhaustion.

She had exactly 7 minutes to make it to the bus stop if she wanted a seat.

"Aaj bhi late na ho jaun...jaldi kar roshni"
[hurry up Roshni! Otherwise, you will be again late today]

She muttered under her breath and sighed. Her books felt heavier than usual, and the humidity clung to her skin like a second layer. Still, her lips curved into a small smile as she reached the stop just in time. She sat on her usual seat in the BMC bus and the bus started moving.

With a sudden jerk the bus came to a halt near Worli signal. Passengers shifted in their seats, some grumbled, others prepared to get down.

Roshni still sat by the window. Her long dupatta fluttered slightly in the wind coming through the half-open pane. Her notebook lay open on her lap — she was revising some notes, but her eyes had drifted.

Just Next to the bus, A matte black BMW came to a smooth halt. Windows rolled halfway down, cold AC air mingling with the humid outside. Behind the wheel sat a handsome man, Rudra Jain. He wasn’t the kind of man who is patient with these things, but still for once, he didn’t mind the long traffic at the signal.

why??

Because his eyes which were roaming aimlessly cursing the crowd few second ago, had got a glimpse of a beautiful, innocent face sitting by the window of red public bus.

She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. Just sitting on a bus, hair tied loosely, eyes a little tired but kind. She was nibbling on a pen and maybe reading something. There was a simplicity about her that the world he lived in didn’t offer anymore.

And he couldn’t stop staring.

“What the hell I am doing…!!!” he muttered, reaching out for his cold drink bottle, unscrewing the cap to distract himself.

He took a sip and looked again. She was looking down this time, brushing a hair strand behind her ear. The sunlight hit her cheek at an angle that made her skin glow like poetry. Her emerald Jhumka is hanging near her jaw corner …from there peaking her fair smooth neck…

Damn. He was mesmerized.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her dupatta, glancing out of the window—and their eyes met.

She blinked.

He froze.

What a Lovely deep hazel eye she has!

He tried to look away. He couldn’t.

“Stop Staring like a creep Rudra…Pagal hogya he kya, Behave ”,he muttered to himself.

Absent-mindedly, he twisted the empty bottle in his hand and rolled down the car window more, about to chuck it on the road like he usually did.

But then...But before the bottle could fly—her expression changed.

She saw.
And she dared to react.

No words.
No drama.

Just a raised eyebrow.
A look of disappointment.
A soft, strict shake of her head.

“Mat phenkiyega…” she mouthed, eyes locked into his.
[Please don’t throw it…]

She pointed — a small, graceful flick of her finger — to the blue dustbin near the signal pole.

It wasn’t an order.
It wasn’t a plea.
It was just… right.

Rudra didn’t breathe. He didn’t even blink.

He looked at the bottle.
Then at her.
Then… back at the bin.

He didn’t throw it.

Instead, he placed the bottle in the car door space just beside him.

When he looked back—she was smiling.

Just a little. A curve of lips. A softness in the eyes.

It wasn’t flirtation. It was… something purer. Deeper.
Like she'd seen a child behave for the first time and quietly said, “Good.”

And that Surprise him, completely.

Since when someone’s approval appears important to him!

Signal Turned green.

The bus lurched forward. Her face disappeared.

He sat there, unmoving, cars honking behind him.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel as if trying to hold on to that moment and his racing heart.

“Dammit….stop behaving like a fucking teenage Rudra…”

10:47 AM — Jain Mansion, Malabar Hill

Rudra sat on his room’s balcony, the city stretching before him. His mind, however, was 9 km behind—at Worli signal.

He couldn't focus. Not on the merger deal. Not on the 12 missed calls from Dubai. Not even on the watch his dad gifted him.

Just her. The girl in the bus.

"Main pagal ho gaya hoon kya? For a girl on a bus..."
[Have I gone mad? For a girl on a bus?]

But madness had never felt this peaceful.

The next morning, Rudra was back.

8:14 AM. Worli Signal.

BMW parked at the same spot.

Eyes scanning every passing bus.

She didn’t come.

Next day. Again.

And again.

His assistant thought he was meditating in the mornings. His dad thought he had joined yoga. But Rudra Jain was chasing a glimpse. A girl. A gesture.

On the fifth day, just as he was about to give up this child like doing—he saw her.

Same bus. Same window. Same loosely tied hairs.

His heart stuttered.

And this time, she saw him first.

He smirked.

She frowns and then recalled “the bottle boy”.

And mouthed, "Good boy."

He first got shocked with her comment and then laughed. Genuinely. The kind that reached his eyes.

“did she just called me good boy… I should show her how and where I can be a better MAN then…”

[ohh stop being such a pervet man..you just met her 2^nd time ]

He wanted to get off the car. Stop the bus. Ask her name.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Because somehow, this silent rhythm between them—it was light, perfect, peaceful.

Like the beginning of something bigger.

Something that would change everything.

But he knows he can’t wait for another 4-5 day to see her now…. he just can’t.

Why? He don’t want to think about it for now…

With this in mind his car started following the bus.